Favorite Fantasies
by Lofty Aspirations
Summary: An innocent game leads to some surprising revelations for Justin, Brian and the rest of the gang.
1. Chapter 1

'Your go sweetie.' Emmett prods, turning to face Michael.

It's nine thirty on a Friday night and we're sitting in Woody's trying to kill time before heading over to Babylon. We've already tried our hand at pool but that was a total bust seeing as neither me or Emmett are any good, Ted was too depressed to concentrate properly and Ben always lets Michael win anyway.

So we grabbed a table instead and started up a good old fashioned round of truth telling. Well Emmett did anyway, I'm just along for the ride, not-so patiently waiting it out until Brian finally finishes up at work and gets his ass over here.

If I'm honest, things have been a bit strained between me and the gang since the whole Ethan fiasco finally limped to its inevitable conclusion, not that they act differently around me or anything- well, no one but Michael anyway, and it's not like I didn't see that one coming from a mile off- it's just that I don't feel as comfortable being back here as I thought I would.

Believe me, back when I was having to force myself to sit through the pretentious soirees hosted by Ethan's friends, drinking cheap booze and listening to them drone on about the latest humanitarian crisis or government controversy as if any of them had the first clue how to go about fixing their hair let alone the entire planet, I'd have given anything to be here again, surrounded by people who talked with their hearts instead of out of their asses and who cared about what was actually right not just what was oh-so politically correct.

But now that I'm here it doesn't quite feel like it used to, everything's the same but a little bit different, these people that I took for granted as constants in my life have moved on in my absence, changing in ways I wouldn't have predicted and leaving me feeling like an outsider in the very group I once fought tooth and claw to get to the heart of.

Even Ben seems more at home here than I do now, leaning back in his chair with an arm draped casually over Michael's shoulder- not that I envy him that of course, especially as his boyfriend's currently flashing a none too attractive, rabbit caught in headlights look as he tries unsuccessfully to come up with a decent question for Emmet's game. 'Umm...what's your favorite thing to do in bed?'

Christ.

And I thought Ted's ten-minute lament about the injustice of Jerk at Work's closure was going to be the low point of the evening. How wrong was I?

Across the table Emmett snickers, causing Michael to blush red and stammer. 'I don't mean just listing the stuff you like, we can all do that...I'm talking about the single hottest act you've ever participated in, the thing that gets you off like nothing else, the thing you can't help but fantasize about late at night even though it makes your cheeks blush red in the dark .'

A slightly stunned silence follows his speech in which I think I just might have seriously underestimated dear old Mikey and that maybe this evening could get interesting after all.

'Like for me,' he continues, pausing to throw a shy smile in Ben's direction, 'it would be the feeling of being tied up, I remember the first time Ben and me tried it and it was the most intense thing I'd ever felt. My arms...'

Or then again, maybe not.

I start to fade out, already feeling slightly nauseous. Michael having sex is one of those things that you suppose must happen now and again, but spend the majority of your time convincing yourself never does. It's kind of like thinking about your grandparents going at it or something. Unless you want to scar yourself for life, it's just best not to go there.

Besides, the whole bondage thing isn't exactly a surprise, Brian told me once that Ben's super into all that stuff and that he'd practically begged Brian to restrain him that time they'd hooked up at the white party.

I couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks after he'd told me, sometimes on the mornings when Brian had to go into work early and I didn't have classes until the afternoon, I'd lay back in bed and let my hand drift slowly downwards, stroking lightly as I pictured Ben spread out on white sheets, fingers clasping the headboard tightly as the muscles in his forearms strained and danced under Brian's touch.

I imagined how Brian would tease him, how he'd smile as he drew out the moment mercilessly, watching with hooded eyes as the professor finally lost his legendary cool and slowly came undone beneath him. I'd groan and squeeze tighter as I pictured the sweat breaking out over Ben's body, the large, warm droplets sliding across his bronzed skin as he threw back his head and panted helplessly at the delicious dirtiness of it all.

For no one knows better than me how beautiful Brian Kinney is when he's in complete control. Other people may enjoy wielding it and some can fake it convincingly, but no one else knows how to own it quite like he does, why, just the thought of the way he revels in each and every last scorching second of it makes my breathe catch and my dick twitch painfully in my pants.

That's why no matter how erotic the thought of Ben being tied up is, no matter how achingly close I'd get picturing his powerful body being captured and tamed, every last inch of him stretched out and willingly offered up to be teased, it was always the image of Brian, predatory and commanding above him, that would push me screaming over the edge.

During the darker days with Ethan, when I'd lie awake at three in the morning, unsatisfied and itching for something that I no longer had the right to ask for, I sometimes thought that maybe he'd conditioned me against my knowledge, training me to come to the sound of his voice or touch of his hand like those dogs that only get hungry when they hear a bell ringing.

It's not that Ethan was bad in bed. He wasn't. In fact he was sweet and generous and attentive, all the things any normal person could have wished for, but somehow whenever I got close to shooting I'd always find my eyes closing and pictures of Brian stealing across my vision. Brian with his head thrown back as he danced to a beat no one else could hear at Babylon, Brian barefooted and relaxed as he stretched out on the couch and watched some old movie, Brian pausing between thrusts to fix me with a serious, loaded gaze, whispering my name like it was the answer to every question life had ever asked of him. Brian. Always Brian.

I should have given up and gone home to him the first time I found it happening, just admitted defeat instead of stringing both myself and Ethan along any further. I should have, but of course I didn't. I was far too proud for that. Proud and guilty and so very scared that it was already too late, that I'd run all the way back to the loft only to find the door locked and security code changed when I got there.

I shudder now when I think about how close I came to losing him, how near I was to never being able to touch him again, to never hearing that funny little sigh he makes just before he falls asleep or feeling his legs reach out to tangle up in mine in the middle of the night.

It could all have been so different but for a few little words, 'No' instead of 'Yes', 'Fuck off' instead of 'Welcome back', 'I never cared about you' instead of 'I missed you'. Not that Brian's ever actually said any of that out loud of course, god forbid the stud of Liberty Avenue should ever risk damaging his hard-won reputation, but then he never really needed to. With Brian it's always been about what he does rather than what he says and, though I may have forgotten that for a while, I remember it well enough now to be able to read between the lines.

It's like when he took me to Babylon two nights after we got back together. It would have been so easy for him to have spent the night cruising other guys, pulling them roughly into the backroom and showing me and everyone else present exactly how little the return of the prodigal Sonny-Boy meant to him.

He could have, but he didn't.

Instead he led me right to the center of the dance floor, pressed himself up tight against me and spent the next hour kissing and stroking me in plain sight of everybody.

I can't remember a time when he'd ever been that gentle with me, draping himself over me like a love-struck kid and staring at me like he couldn't quite believe I was really there with him, unwilling to let so much as an inch of space get between us in case I were to suddenly disappear on him again.

It was incredible and overwhelming and so unexpectedly sweet that it almost made me want to cry. Not that I let myself of course, the rare times Brian lets his guard down like that you have no choice other than to ignore it, any recognition of his behavior or display of affection on your part and he'll close back up so quick you'll wonder if you actually did just see a softer side to him or whether you simply dreamed it.

No, even though it was killing me not to tell him how grateful I was, how happy it made me to be back in his life and how if I'd have had any brains at all I never would have left him in the first place, I bit my tongue and just let it all wash over me, enjoying the moment while it lasted and storing it up in preparation for the next time he acted like an asshole and I started wondering why I'd ever wanted to come back to him in the first place.

'Justin, baby?'

'Huh?' I asked, jumping a little in my seat as I tuned back in to my surroundings, flushing as I felt the weight of everyone's gaze upon my face.

'It's your turn.' Ben smiled encouragingly, his eyes kind in a way that made me feel bad for having ever used him as jerk off material in the past.

'Oh, um, what was the question again?' I asked, as if I could forget. Really I was just stalling for time, annoyed at myself for daydreaming when I should have been thinking up an answer. For most people it would probably have been a pretty easy decision, but when you've spent the better part of the last three years being schooled in the art of lovemaking by the renowned sexual savant that is Mr. Brian Kinney, the job of narrowing down your experiences to pick just one favorite becomes a hell of a lot harder.

'What's you're favorite thing to do in bed?' Ted supplies a little too eagerly, the downcast expression he's been wearing for weeks now suddenly clearing at the thought of getting a much sought after insight into the gay Mecca that is Brian's bedchamber.

I'd have laughed at the obviousness of his hero-worship if I hadn't been so guilty of it myself.

'Yes, do tell baby, I can't even begin to imagine all the naughty things the two of you must get up to.' Emmett teases, his smile only half hiding the genuine curiosity that lies behind his words.

No matter how much might have changed while I was gone, it was strangely reassuring to know that some things would always remain the same; love him or loathe him, everybody wants Brian.

'Ok, well there is this one thing that I particularly like.' I say, unsure how wise it is to talk about this in front of one person who's already slept with him, one who's in awe of him and another who's been in love with him since he was fourteen.

'Don't be shy.' Emmett says, reading my hesitation. 'And don't leave out any of the gory details...those are the best bits.'

I start to smile when suddenly the air shifts around me, shutting my eyes I know he's arrived even before I feel a warm hand on my lower back and a hot whisper in my ear.

'Yes sunshine, speak slowly and enunciate. I want to hear every last word.'

* * *

 **Haven't tried anything like this before, but I just finished watching the series and I loved it too much to let it go! Might be a three-parter if there's any demand for it. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

I swallow awkwardly as I watch Brian push Ted none too gently out of the chair beside mine and sit himself down, eyebrows raising as he turns towards me in expectation.

'Well?' he asks, waving his hand as if granting me permission to proceed.

'Er...ok.' I stumble, trying to think of something to say while mentally kicking myself for getting so flustered by his arrival that it's turned me into a stammering idiot.

It would be a lie to say that Brian's presence ever leaves me completely unaffected though, even during those first days of falling for Ethan, when everything was so new and exciting and I'd spend hours floating aimlessly round the loft, listening to his cd on repeat and imagining how it would feel to be touched by fingers as light and talented as his, I'd still get a thrill somewhere deep in my gut whenever Brian came home and bitched at me to 'switch that damn racket off'.

A very big part of me hated him by that point, hated how he could be so cold, so relentlessly uncaring when it was obvious our relationship was hanging by the thinnest, most breakable of threads. It doesn't take a genius to know that playing your bit on the side's music in your boyfriend's apartment isn't exactly the best way to go about keeping an affair secret.

But the truth is I wanted him to find out, part of me longed for the moment when he'd look me in the eye and know that, for the very first time since I met him, I was the one who got to call the shots. For once it wasn't him pushing me away and threatening to kick me out that had brought us right to the edge, it was me finally realizing that maybe, just maybe, I wanted more than he was willing to give.

Oh sure, the drama princess in me wanted him to hurt and ache and get down on bended knee and beg me not to leave him, risking his dignity and Armani trousers alike, as he finally woke up to the fact that he loved me and couldn't bear the thought of passing a single day without me by his side. (What can I say, Titanic came out when I was fourteen and ever since then my romantic expectations have always tended somewhat towards the melodramatic.)

More than that though, I think I just wanted to feel like he noticed me. Before the bashing, self-confidence was definitely not something I'd ever struggled with. I knew exactly how funny and smart and extraordinary I was and if people (cough, Brian, cough) didn't seem to appreciate it at first glance, then I was sure as hell going to stick around until they did.

It's weird thinking about that now, as when I first woke up from the coma I only really focused on the physical stuff; the hand cramps, the nightmares, the crippling agoraphobia. Fighting all that took up so much of my time and energy that it took me a while to realize that a bat to the head changes you internally too. It takes away your certainty, your capacity for positive thought, your hope.

For most people that might not make that big of a dent in their every day lives, but when your entire personality is founded on your optimism, it can feel like it's ripped the real you out and replaced it with someone who may look and sound the same, but who's really just a cheap imitation. A dark shadow in place of the brightest sunshine.

After going through something like that, its hard not to feel unsure of yourself, to question the things that you once took for granted and to seek reassurance from the people who mean the most to you. And of course for me that person had always been Brian. I needed him so much after it happened, it probably wasn't fair of me to ask him to pick up the broken pieces and try and make them whole again, but I couldn't help myself. Not so long ago he'd taken a lost, nervous kid from under a streetlight and turned him into a fully-fledged out and proud gay man. He was my world and I knew that if I was going to find the way back to myself then it would only ever be through him.

That's not to say that he didn't try of course, no one could have been more gentle and patient with me than he was in those first few weeks after I got out of the hospital. He was incredible and if I live to be a hundred it still won't be long enough for me to find a way to repay him for everything he did in that time.

But Brian's always been about appearances. He took my physical problems and he found ways to solve them. He picked me up and kissed me better and when eventually my hand started to get stronger and my nightmares stopped he stepped away and patted himself on the back for a job well done.

Ok so perhaps that's not totally fair, I can hardly blame him for wanting to believe that it was all over. The prom was almost as traumatic for him as it was for me, maybe more so in some ways. Of course he wanted to convince himself that I was fixed, that we could simply forget about it and start moving on with our lives.

It might even have worked if it wasn't for one tiny little hiccup- I wasn't even remotely close to being fine. My scars ran a hell of a lot deeper than the one under my hairline, but he either couldn't or wouldn't look hard enough to see them. Soon he was back to his old (or rather young and new) tricks and it no longer seemed to matter that I was still messed up and confused, just as long as he could spend his nights in the backroom and not have me wake him up at five am by screaming in my sleep.

I needed more than that though. Hobbs had taken so much from me with a single swing of a bat that I really just needed Brian to step up and acknowledge that I was an important and permanent part of his life, that this thing between us which meant so very much to me wasn't going to end up being taken away too.

Maybe I pushed harder than I should have at times, maybe I didn't bother looking any deeper at his issues than he did with mine, didn't take the time to see that a cancelled skiing trip was really the result of work commitments and an aborted picnic that of a serious health scare.

Maybe in the end, I was every bit as insensitive and selfish as he was.

It's funny, but I actually think that ended up being a big part of the reason why he was able to take me back. If our breakup (he can argue the terminology all he wants, but that's what it was) had been entirely my fault then I feel like he'd have been too hurt to ever consider giving me another chance. After the childhood he had he's rightly distrustful of love and I think a total betrayal on my part may well have been enough to put him off it forever.

On the other hand though, had the breakup been entirely his fault, I think he'd have pushed me away even harder, convincing himself that he wasn't worthy of being loved and that I was better off without him to drag me down.

As it was though we were both as much to blame as the other, and I think it's that which made our reconciliation possible. It helped convince him that we were both as screwed up as each other and that maybe this thing could work now that we were starting off on an equal-footing for a change.

When I told him I knew what he wanted from me and what I could expect from him in return, it was more than just a ploy to get back in his bed. It was the truth. I think I had to see what life was without him, and how he reacted to me not being around anymore, to finally be able to claw back the certainty that Chris Hobb's stole from me.

Cathy says something in Wuthering Heights about how her and Heathcliff's souls are made out of the same essence and I think that's also true of me and Brian. People like to paint us as opposites and, while that may be true physically, inside we're definitely a lot similar. We're both outspoken, moral, intensely ambitious people, who aren't afraid to go after what we want, are harder on ourselves than anyone else could ever be and are both driven on by a overwhelming need to prove our father's wrong.

Oh, and when it comes to sex, we're both every bit as fiercely passionate, highly inventive and utterly insatiable as the other.

Which I guess is a rather long-winded, roundabout way of explaining why having to decide on my favorite bedroom activity of all time was an insanely hard thing to do.

Although, if I'm honest, even in the midst of all our thousands of memorable fucks, there's one thing we do every couple months or so that really sticks out for me.

Yet, glancing round at the faces watching me with interest (Emmett, Ben), eagerness (Ted), contempt (Michael) and poorly concealed curiosity (Brian), I can't help but think that it's just too intimate an experience to casually share with the gang over a drink at Woody's.

Besides, I doubt Brian would like me telling people about it, something tells me it would be far too revealing for his tastes.

No, better play safe and go with something that he'd approve of, a fast, frenzied fuck that more than lives up to his reputation as the hottest top this side of the Pacific.

'So, um, I like it when Brian fu-'

'Wait, wait, wait!' Emmett cries, slapping my arm lightly. 'Don't rush it. You're an artist, aren't you? So set the scene, paint a picture for us. Come on baby, how often do we get to hear about what goes on in the most hole-y of inner sanctums? For two boys who love public displays of affection so much, you're awfully coy about what takes place behind closed doors.'

Squirming slightly in my seat at the thought of having to draw this out even further, I can't help but wonder if it's too late to get everyone to agree to another round of pool after all.

'Ok, well, it usually starts in the morning.' I offer lamely, elbowing Brian in the ribs when I catch him scoffing contemptuously out of the corner of my eye.

'Ignore him, baby. You're doing fine.' Emmett says, throwing a glare in Brian's direction.

Nodding, I turn in my seat so that I end up sitting perpendicular to the table, facing Emmett head on and obscuring my view of the rest of the gang while blocking out Brian completely. I instantly felt more comfortable like this, almost as if me and Emmett are having a private chat instead of having the whole gang listen in as I air my dirty laundry for all to hear. Plus, this way Brian could make as many faces as he wanted without throwing me off.

I've barely turned around though when I feel his fingers pulling at the hem of my shirt, tugging until it falls loose and he's able to slip his hand up between the material and my skin. With the lightest of barely-there touches, he starts stroking my lower back in small, teasing circles.

I'd take it for an apology if I didn't already know better.

My annoyance fading instantly, I smile slightly in recognition. For some weird reason that probably only makes sense to him, Brian's always been oddly possessive of me wherever Emmett is concerned. The same man who's happily stood back and watched me fuck and suck my way through half of gay Pittsburgh without feeling the slightly twinge of jealousy, was currently displaying the kind of public affection he usually needed to be half-comatose on Anita's special mix to allow.

I didn't really know what it was that caused his insecurity, although I suspected that for all his snide comments on the subject, he recognized some of his own fearlessness in Emmett's refusal to hide who he was or apologize for who or how he chose to fuck. Either that, or he'd seen Em's impressive performances on jerk at work and gotten nervous about my size queen tendancies.

Whatever the reason may be though, one thing I knew for certain was that this little quirk of his never failed to make me stupidly happy. It's page five of the Kinney handbook that any and all shows of affection are to enjoyed and savored for the rarities they are, in fact it lies right between the page explaining that his whole 'sorry is bullshit' routine is the actual bullshit and the one about how the no carbs after seven rule doesn't apply to the ice cream he sneaks out of the freezer when he thinks no one is looking.

Leaning back into his touch, I shiver slightly at the sensations he can manage to evoke with the just the barest tips of his fingers, before I square my shoulders and start to talk.

* * *

 **Thank you so, so much to those who reviewed, favorited and/or followed, you made me feel brave enough to give this another go. There'll probably be one or two more chapters to come after this and if you did want to let me know your thoughts so far then I promise I'll write them quicker and make them extra good! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.**

 ***Also to peacock- sorry about the confusion, a couple of days before writing the first chapter I read a brilliant fanfiction where Emmet told Justin about the time he'd slept with Brian, it was so good I totally forgot it wasn't actually canon. I've gone back and changed it now though so hopefully it makes more sense. Thanks for picking up on it.**


	3. Chapter 3

I spend a little while setting the scene, _painting the picture,_ as Emmett had described it. Thinking about it in those terms though makes me ache for my sketchbook, my fingers twitching in my lap as I imagine the impressions I'd make on the blank paper; the bold, confident lines that epitomize Brian and the softer, almost shaky curves that symbolize my desire for him.

I get so caught up in the idea that I don't even realize I've stopped talking until I feel him nudge me in the back none too gently, his touch a silent demand for me to hurry up and get to the good bit.

Not wanting to disappoint, I make a promise to myself that I'll set down my thoughts in pencil as soon as I get back to Daphne's. Although, judging by the shiver-inducing patterns Brian's currently tracing up and down my back with the softest of finger-tipped touches, it doesn't look like I'll be heading there any time soon. Not that I'm complaining.

Since we got back together I haven't been spending too many nights away from the loft. I never really start out expecting to go over there -Brian's never been one for making plans in advance and I'm still not sure enough of my reinstated place in his life to risk asking- but usually he'll end up dropping a few not so subtle hints throughout the day that let me know he wouldn't particularly mind it if I accidentally happened to turn up there unannounced.

Sometimes I think he really believes he's this big mysterious figure that no one can work out when, in truth, apart from those few unfortunate weeks leading up to the Ethan debacle, he's been as transparent as glass to me ever since I first caught sight of him from under that streetlamp.

Most people seem to be under the impression that he rescued me that night, saved me from going home either alone and disappointed or with some uncaring asshole who'd have used me roughly then kicked me to the curb before the first light of dawn.

Maybe in a way they're right, but what they don't know is that JT did a little rescuing of his own that night too. One look into his frustrated, bored eyes and I could tell that Brian wasn't a happy man. That the life of cruising until midnight and fucking until morning had begun to lose its shiny appeal. Sometimes, late at night, I think about what would have happened to him if we hadn't found each other when we did and each answer I come up ends up scaring me more than the last.

Perhaps it would have worked out ok, maybe Gus' birth would have been enough to pull him back from the edge only an idiot, or blindly trusting best friend, couldn't help but see he was racing full speed towards. But part of me doubts it. Brian Kinney had grown bored of his own legend that night, had finally begun to outgrow the skin he's worn so proudly since the first evening he stepped onto Liberty Avenue, armed with a killer body and an unstoppable conceit and the steadfast determination to bring every man, gay, straight or undecided in the place, to his knees.

He was looking for something new, something more, and I'll never stop being grateful that he found it in me.

Just like I'll never stop feeling that spike of lust when he comes into the art department pretending to need to look over the designs, or stops by at Woody's on the pretext of wanting to play pool with the guys, or turns up at Babylon acting as if he's there to get off with some random trick against the backroom wall or crammed into a toilet cubicle. On those occasions I don't even have to look up to know his eyes are on me, or hesitate for so much as a second before calling Daphne and telling her not to wait up.

I already know from the feel of his hand upon my back, gentle and curious, that tonight will be another one of those nights. The knowledge settles on me softly, like a blanket over a sleeping body, and I don't need to look in the mirror to know I'm smiling so brightly I'm in serious danger of blinding Emmett where he sits.

Catching sight of my shit-eating grin, Emmett laughs and taps me lightly on the knee in a gentle reminder that I'm supposed to be telling them about my favorite sexual experience-not getting caught up in imagining the ones we'll be busy acting out later.

'So you're in bed, baby, and Brian's, where was it? The kitchen?'

'Yeah.' I agree, grateful for the reminder of where I left off. 'He's in the kitchen making coffee.'

'Pfft. Like that's unusual.' Michael scoffs. 'Brian would probably melt away like the wicked witch of the west if he didn't knock back enough caffeine to kill a small horse before breakfast.'

Behind me I just know Brian is sticking his tongue out at Michael and for a moment I envy them their playful ease, built up over all those years when Michael was Brian's everything in a way I myself can never hope to be.

As if sensing my dark thoughts, Brian leans forward and presses his nose against the sensitive space behind my ear, knowing full well his touching it always makes my dick twitch. Squirming away from him, and trying to adjust my pants without anyone noticing, I elbow him in the ribs and smile at the thought that at least their are some parts of Brian that I'll always know better than Michael will.

'It's true. But the mornings I'm talking about are different. They only used to happen once a month or so when Brian would have a really important meeting on the same day that I wouldn't have to be in PIFA until at least noon.'

I feel Brian tense up behind me as my words clue him in as to what I'm about to say. For a second, I worry he's about to interrupt and forbid me from going any further, but a moment later his whole body relaxes and he lets out a put-upon sigh as if reluctantly granting me silent permission to continue. Yeah right, I know he's every bit as keen to hear this as I am to tell it.

'So I'd stumble out of bed, my hair all rumpled and messy, wearing nothing but my boxers, and I'd find him sitting at the table, coffee cup in hand as he poured over the financial section of that day's newspaper. He'd always be dressed in this one particular Armani suit. It was deep black and tailored to perfection and he knew he looked hot as hell in it.'

'Please. I look hot in everything.'

'True, but this suit was special. It was the one you only wore to the most senior meetings, the ones where you wanted to be certain you'd already won the client over from the very first moment you stepped through the door.'

Hearing his grunt of acknowledgement, I pause for a second to collect myself before shutting my eyes and plunging ahead.

'So I'd see him there, looking all professional and pristine, like one of those models out of a GQ magazine, all hooded eyes and tight, tanned skin, not one hair out of place, and I'd get this uncontrollable urge to drop to my knees and suck him off right there. I couldn't help myself, every single time I'd be consumed with this irrational need to crumple up his suit and mess up his hair with my hands, to make him throw his head back and shout out my name with every last twist of my tongue. I'd want to make him sweaty and dirty and so fucking gone he wouldn't be able to stand up let alone head off to some make or break meeting. I'd want to ruin him. Ruin him for everything and everyone else but me. Destroy him from the inside out.'

My speech was met with total silence, the gang so quiet around the table that, if the last three years hadn't taught me that there was literally nothing they weren't willing to share with one another, I'd almost have thought I'd embarrassed them by revealing too much.

'Fuck Sunshine.'

It was Brian, his voice so hoarse against my ear it seemed to scrape against my skin like sandpaper.

My stomach flipping over at the unmistakable heat beneath his words, I almost miss Ted asking what happened next.

'Well,' I say, coughing quickly when I realize how throaty my voice has become. 'I never actually got the chance to go through with it. Every single time, just as I was about to go over, Brian would lift his head up and see me.'

'What would he do?' Ted asks breathlessly, practically leaning over the table in his eagerness to catch every last, sordid word.

'Well as first he'd just take one look at me and smirk. This big, self-satisfied grin like he knew exactly what dirty little thoughts were careening around my head and couldn't wait to help me act them out. But then, just as I'd be getting ready to sink to the floor and crawl over to him, he'd blink slowly and stand up. He'd always make this big show of drinking the last of his coffee and folding up the newspaper. Taking his time when he knew how much it was killing me to have to wait. How badly I wanted to feel him against me.'

I shiver slightly at the memory, wanting Brian but being unable to touch him had become a depressingly regular state of events over the last couple of months and I was determined never to put myself in such a miserable position again.

'Eventually though, just as I'd be preparing to tackle him to the floor, he'd turn and walk over to me in that slow, predatory way he has that never fails to make me harder than a pop quiz on the precise conjugation of irregular French verbs.'

'That _is_ hard.' Ben laughs good-naturedly, making me feel guilty for having forgotten he was even there.

'Yeah, so he'd walk over to me, coming so close that there was barely an inch of space between us -yet careful not to touch- and ask if I was going to have a busy day. I'd laugh and shake my head and tell him about my class, or having to work on Rage or whatever and then he'd tell me all about his meeting, the ridiculous sums of money that were on the line and how much everyone at the agency was counting on him to get it right. It would make me feel so small, but in a good way, like he was this major international player and I was little league, like I was lucky to even be standing in the same room as him, privileged to be allowed to breathe in the same air. Fuck, it used to get me so hot when he acted like that, playing the part of the cold, arrogant big-shot that everyone thinks he is while at the same time smirking to let me know that it was just a load of bullshit. And then I'd settle into my role too, act the part of the doting housewife and ask him what time he'd be home and he'd say...'

'What?' came the voices of four very interested men.

Pulling out of the fantasy, I feel my cheeks heat up as I realize how close I'd come to screwing this up, to giving the game away and revealing a side to Brian I was sure he'd rather selflessly donate his entire wardrobe of designer labels to the crystal queens of Liberty Avenue than have me unveil.

You see this was the moment where the day took a turn, where his next words would seal the fate of how the next few hours would play themselves out. There were two very different options up for grabs and, while I had no doubt which one was my personal favorite, I also knew that was one of the few areas of our sex life that Brian would rather keep strictly between the two of us.

Flustered, I plumped for the second, safer option, knowing I'd chosen correctly when I felt Brian's hand, which had tightened up into a claw-like grip in the last few minutes, loosen back up and resume it's gentle stroking.

'He'd say some stupidly late time. Like nine or ten or something. And I'd whine and say that it was too long, that I couldn't wait until then, anything to make him smirk and call me a spoiled brat. He'd always huff and puff for a bit and then...'

'He'd blow you're house down?' Michael teases, rolling his eyes as if bored of the story.

For a minute I consider telling him that his own lame bondage saga pales in comparison to a certain white party hook-up before deciding it would only annoy Brian and I was currently way too horny to risk going home alone tonight.

'No.' I snipe. 'Then he'd be on me. It was like a switch had been flipped or something, zero to sixty in under two seconds. Before I knew it my boxers would have disappeared half way across the loft and he'd have me flat on my back, right there on the floor in the middle of the living room. I'd reach up to undo his tie, to touch his face or kiss his lips, anything to feel his bare skin on mine, but he'd always grab my hands and hold me down. He'd remind me he had a meeting to go to and scold me for trying to mess up is appearance.'

I could almost hear him now.

 _'Ah, ah.' He'd say, his voice little more than a husky whisper as he shook his head and grinned evilly down at me. 'We both know I taught you better than that.'_

God, how I loved it when he got dominant.

'Then he'd flip me onto my stomach and tell me to get up on my knees. I'd scramble to do it, scraping my legs against the cold wood in my rush to comply and all the while I'd be going crazy listening to the clink of his belt being unbuckled, the rustle as he pulled the condom from his pocket and the rip as he tore it open with his teeth. I'd be a panting mess before he even touched me. Not that there was ever much touching, he'd know I was still loose from the night before and he wouldn't waste time with prep, just line himself up and slam home in one long, aching thrust. It always hurt in the very best way. He wouldn't give me anytime to adjust though, just set a ruthless pace right from the start, practically daring me to try and keep up with him.'

'I bet you did though, right baby?'

'I tried. It was hard though, the way he'd line himself up behind me, draping himself over my bare back so I was covered completely, the feel of him fully-dressed and powerful against my naked, vulnerable skin. It was all I could do not to shoot the second he touched me. And all the time he'd be counting down in my ear, _three minutes, two minutes, one minute, thirty seconds, almost there,_ _you come now Sunshine or you don't come at all_. Christ, sometimes I didn't think I'd be able to do it, that he'd finish and pull out and just leave me there, a broken mess on the floor, while he redid his pants and headed off to work like nothing had happened, forbidding me to touch myself until he came back. Sometimes I almost wanted him too.'

Biting my lip to prevent a groan from escaping, I shut my eyes and let myself fall fully into the fantasy.

'But then just as I was really getting desperate, pleas falling from my lips like raindrops upon parched desert sands, he'd switch up the angle and tease over my prostate with the lightest, more tantalizing of tickles. My whole body would seize up and I'd beg him for release, beg until my throat was hoarse and my mind was blown and I felt like I'd die if he didn't finish me right the fuck now. Of course, he'd be merciless, stringing me along and draw out the moment until I was halfway to insanity and then, just as I was about to lose it completely, he'd pull out almost all the way and drive back in hard, pounding directly into my prostate and I'd be gone. Totally gone. Nothing but a screaming, shuddering mass of nerves and sensation. Every thought and feeling wiped clean from my mind until there was nothing left but him. Him and me and us together.'

'And then?' Ted asks.

I shudder lightly and open my eyes, slowly coming back to my surroundings. 'And then nothing. He'd pull out and tuck himself back in, straighten out the creases in his suit and act so god damn casual that anyone watching would think he'd just been discussing the weather not fucking me so hard into the floor I practically had splinters coming out of my ass. He'd help pull me to my feet and kiss me lightly on the nose, telling me to be a good boy and not jerk off while he was gone, that he had plans for tonight and didn't want me spoiling them with my impatience. And then he'd just pick up his briefcase and go to work, cool as you please. Off to wow some client and secure some multi-million dollar deal while I was condemned to spend the rest of the day walking around in a daze, my ass sore and my head full of everything he'd just done to me and everything I hoped he'd do once he got back.'

The gang are quiet for a few minutes, letting the story sink in before Ben breaks the silence to declare, 'Well, I think it's safe to say that Justin wins that round!'

Michael scowls at his partner as Ted and Emmett laugh self-consciously and shake themselves out of their temporary stupor, knocking back the rest of their drinks with unsteady hands and proclaiming that it's time for Babylon.

I'm uncomfortably aware of Brian's silence as I too stand up and grab my coat ready to head over for a few hours of dancing, hoping the relentless thumpa thumpa will help distract me from the painful thought that now I no longer live with Brian, I'll be unlikely to experience any of those frenzied early morning fucks anytime soon.

For though I've been going over to the loft most evenings since we got back together, I've never actually spent the whole night there. After we've had sex a few hundred times Brian usually gets up and drives me back to Daphne's, a silent but depressingly clear message that, while I may be welcome back into his life and bed, things between us aren't quite what they used to be.

It hurts to think that maybe they won't ever be.

My mood plummeting, all of a sudden I can't help but feel stupid for having shared so much, for willingly having laid my obsession bare like that when it's so obvious he's never do the same for me. Not that I can blame him, after what I did it's a miracle he's even let me get this close to him again. I should be grateful for what I've got, not constantly wishing for more. That's precisely what got me in this mess to begin with and I'd promised myself that I'd stop if we ever got back together.

I thought I'd gotten over it, that I could finally be the grown up, detached, sometime lover that he so obviously wants me to be, but maybe I haven't matured quite as much as I'd like to believe I have. Maybe part of me is destined to forever remain that same naive 17 year old kid who once looked into a pair of bottomless hazel eyes and swore he'd seen the face of God.

Feeling bummed out as we head out of Woody's and walk towards Babylon, Brian making sure to situate himself at the opposite end of the group from me, the idea of dancing starts to lose its normal appeal and I realize what I really want to do right now is just go home and curl up under the covers for a while.

As we bypass the queue and the others head up the steps, I'm just about to tell them I'm going back to Daphne's when suddenly Brian appears from nowhere, grabbing hold of the front of my coat and pulling me into the warm circle of his arms.

'That was an interesting story, Sunshine.' He says, bending his knees so he can rest his forehead against mine. His perfect face all that I can see. All that I ever want to see. 'But didn't dear old Jennifer ever teach you that it's not nice to go around telling lies?'

I frown up at him, unsure of what he means until the teasing glint in his eyes clues me in. It seems I'm every bit as transparent to him as he is to me and that he knows full well I held back at the bar in order to save his blushes.

Pulling back, he raises an eyebrow in challenge before all but manhandling me back down the street towards his corvette. 'Now how about we go back to the loft and you can tell me what nasty little things really make sweet Justin's pecker go all a pitter patter, hmm?'


End file.
